Now He's Gone Too Far
"Of all the times for this story to break," said Dr. P Head of Vincennes University. "I've spent my whole life training potatoes to write. I was in line for a Nobel Prize."
"Why potatoes?" I asked.
"Why not potatoes?" he said angrily. "And now this. Whatever one of the little spuds writes, the others copy it word for word."
"That's incredible," I said.
"It's hideous," said Dr. P Head. "They say David Boyer told them to do it. I say I should have taught rhubarb to write- at least rhubarb's not so damned gullible. Now my reputation is ruined. What will happen to my government funding?"
"Maybe better luck with the carrots," I said, pointing toward long rows of the latent salad condiments.
His labcoat flapped behind him in the sudden breeze, his cheeks reddened as he propped his hands on his hips and he stared at me with contempt.
"Everyone knows carrots can't write," he said.
"Ah," I said, "But neither can David Boyer."